


Seven Stars

by Victorious56



Series: Numerically Speaking [7]
Category: RWBY
Genre: First Meetings, Inspired by The Lord of the Rings, M/M, Not a Crossover, Pre-Relationship, apologies to professor tolkien, no named horses were harmed in the writing of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26730094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorious56/pseuds/Victorious56
Summary: An evil is rising, and the Captain of the Guard is sent from Minas Tirith to seek one who may be able to overcome it.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Numerically Speaking [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870408
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	1. Bree

The afternoon had long ago left the land, the late summer sun slowly making its way behind the hills to the west. The road leading down into the village was well-worn, but quiet, save for the weary hooves of the chestnut-brown mare who made her slow way towards Bree.

The rider had the look of a man well-used to journeying in this fashion, but his bowed shoulders told of many days on the road. His head lifted, a slight smile crossing his face as the track levelled out. "Nearly there, Vixen," he said, patting his mount on the side of her neck. Her ears pricked, as if the sight of habitation was enough to remind her of warm stables, fresh water, and a well-filled hay rack. She picked up her pace as they passed an outlying farmhouse, denoting the outskirts of their destination.

The sun having not yet set, the large wooden doors in the boundary fence were still propped open. The road through the village was quiet; apart from the mare's hooves, all that could be heard was the clamour of the rookeries on the hillside beyond the cottages. Small groups of birds fluttered from the trees, calling loudly, before returning to settle in their roosts. By the time the traveller had reached his journey's end, twilight was near, and the rooks were quiet.

The tall man dismounted, rubbing his hands through his short hair, which was not so different in colour from that of his horse. He looked up at the inn sign, hanging motionless in the still of the evening. A constellation of seven stars was depicted on a dark blue background, the legend _The Seven Stars Inn_ lettered beneath. He tied the reins to the horse post, and after a soft reassurance to the mare that she would soon be fed, rearranged the folds of his cloak and pushed open the door of the inn.

The hubbub of the interior was in sharp contrast to the stillness of the street outside. A welcoming, savoury smell drifted through the air, reminding him how long it had been since he had eaten an adequate meal. He approached the bar, looking enquiringly to the innkeeper who bustled to and fro behind it.

"Yes sir, and what can we do for you?" The man was missing several teeth, but his smile seemed genuine enough.

"Greetings, my good man. I am looking for stabling for my horse, and a room for myself, if you have the space."

"Indeed we do; is your mount outside?" Receiving a nod of affirmation, he called loudly to a youth who was wiping down the tables. "Here you, Jed, do you see to this gentleman's horse now. Be sure to be thorough with your rub-down, and get fresh water, and hay and oats too."

As Jed passed by, the traveller stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. "Vixen is her name, and she may try to nuzzle your pockets for food, but she's very gentle."

"Yes sir, thank you, sir."

"And now, would you be wanting refreshment also, Mr...?"

"Thank you, yes indeed, for I am most hungry. And it's Captain... Captain Ebi."

The innkeeper's eyes widened a fraction. "Ah, to be sure, I see now. We don't get many up this way from Gondor, sir. Well, I recommend the rabbit pie to fill your stomach, made by my wife earlier today."

"That sounds excellent. Now, one more thing, if you please. I am looking for a man I am to meet here. He is a Ranger, and goes by the name of Branwen."

The innkeeper frowned. "Now then, what would a respectable soldier like yourself be wanting with the likes of him?"

Captain Ebi turned his green eyes upon the man. "That is my business, my good fellow."

"Ah, of course sir, I meant nothing by it, I'm sure. It's just—" He broke off, leaning across the bar. "Whenever these rangers appear, trouble's never far away." He nodded emphatically.

Captain Ebi's mouth curved in a smile. "Have you ever considered, the reason the rangers appear is to deal with the problem, and not that they are its cause?"

The innkeeper's mouth fell open. He stared at the captain, then shook his head. "Well, maybe you're right, sir. Anyway, the man you seek is in yonder corner." He gestured to the far side of the room, where the captain could just discern, through the smoky haze, a figure seated at a table.

"Thank you. Please bring my food to the table." The captain smiled pleasantly at the discomfited innkeeper, and threaded his way through the throng of folk in the room. He was aware of several curious looks as he edged his way past, which did not surprise him. Visitors from Gondor were indeed a rarity here; soldiers even more so.

As he approached the table in the corner, the man seated there raised his eyes to inspect the newcomer. Captain Ebi looked down at a careworn face, soft red eyes, and greying, dark hair. The man returned his gaze steadily, a faint smile on his lips.

"Do I have the pleasure of addressing Branwen, son of Thranwen?"

The seated man smiled a little more. "That is my name, but whether it brings you pleasure, only time will tell."

This was not at all the response which the captain expected. He had believed the Rangers to be dour, unemotional individuals. This man had an air of mischief about him, and seemed ill-suited to his title.

"You are a Ranger, sir?"

"That I am, although I am not a sir, for you or anyone else."

"I have been tasked with seeking you out, to consult you on a serious matter. May I be seated?"

"These seats are not occupied." The ranger indicated two other wooden chairs tucked under the table.

"I thank you." Captain Ebi withdrew one chair and sat upon it, glancing back across the room as he did so. A few patrons looked away quickly, keen to disguise their interest.

The innkeeper at that moment made his way to the table, a large plate of rabbit pie and vegetables in one hand. The other clutched a tankard of ale, the froth from the head spilling over the lip.

"Here you are, Captain! And a tankard of our finest."

"Thank you. Has my horse been attended to satisfactorily?"

"Yes sir, Jed told me she was right keen to tuck into her oats. He gave her some carrots, too."

"Very good, thank you."

The innkeeper bobbed his head in a slight bow and returned to the bar, leaving the two men alone. The ranger sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.

"Well, you know my name, but you still have the better of me in that regard."

"My apologies. I am Captain Clover Ebi, head of the Steward's Guard. I have ridden from Minas Tirith at the behest of—"

The other man raised a hand. "Say nothing further for now. This is a friendly establishment, but it is wise to keep such details for a less public place."

The soldier was working his way methodically through his food, washing it down after every few mouthfuls with a gulp of ale. He eyed the other, saying nothing, until he had finished his meal. After draining the tankard, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, "Where would you suggest, then?"

"You have a room here? That would be ideal."

Captain Ebi frowned slightly. _This man is an oddity indeed, and now he has invited himself to my private room_. "Very well. I will ask for the details of my room, and we may adjourn there."

  


The ranger closed the door behind him, locking it before removing the key and placing it on the dresser. Captain Ebi, turning after placing his pack on a chair, saw the movement.

"Is that necessary?"

"These are dark times, Captain."

Hands on hips, the captain considered the ranger. "I know little of you, what is to say _you_ are not the danger here?"

The ranger took a seat by the window, saying laughingly, "I would hope one such as yourself was better able to discern friend from foe."

Captain Ebi relaxed his shoulders as he took the other seat in the room. "I can. And I know you are the one whom Ozpin the Grey sent me to find."

The other's eyebrows raised at the mention of that name. "You are a friend of Ozpin?"

"I would not say _friend_ , exactly. He is more of a mentor, if you will. I see him but rarely, on his visits to the White City. He has schooled me in all manner of lore and history, which is a subject I find fascinating." His face fell as he added, "I am afraid the Lord James, current Steward of Gondor, does not share my interest in such things. But Ozpin bade me come and meet with you, and he told me you would be at this inn, on this date. So, Branwen, here I am."

"You should call me Qrow," the other man said easily. "And if we are to be companionable, perhaps I should call you Clover?"

The only sound to be heard was the crackling of the small fire in the grate, the hiss and spit of the resinous wood puncturing the silence between them. The flickering shadows danced across Qrow's face, and Clover found the effect almost mesmerising. After gazing at him for a long moment, the soldier replied, "Yes, if that is what you wish."

"I wish for many things, Clover, but... that is a tale for another time, perhaps. What is it which Ozpin deems so urgent, he must send the Captain of the Guard to me?"

Clover rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, his face serious. He told Qrow all which Ozpin had divulged to him— the growing evil in the East, the threat of deception and betrayal from those thought to be allies, the necessity that all should stand in unison to resist the doom which beckoned to them. That a king would rise from obscurity, to bind the people together in a common cause.

Qrow listened intently, his eyes never leaving Clover's face. "And why did he not come to inform me of this himself?"

"He said there were matters to which he must attend, of great urgency. And also—" Clover's face reddened slightly. "He assured me you would be certain to take heed of his words, if they were delivered by myself." He glanced at Qrow, before looking away. "I do not know why he thought so, he would not explain."

Qrow laughed. "Ozpin the Grey was ever the trickster! He and I have had our differences in the past... I suspect he thought an earnest Man of Gondor might be more of an... acceptable messenger."

"Was he correct?" Clover looked into Qrow's eyes.

"He was."

Qrow rose to his feet, drawing the window curtain to one side to peer out into the street. Satisfied, he closed it again and took his seat.

"Now, I must tell you a little of myself, and this will explain why Ozpin considers me... significant."

In his gruff voice, the ranger spun what, to Clover, seemed to be a marvellous tale. A man of noble birth, sought for and hunted throughout his life, raised away from his family in anonymity. Who lived a very different life, aiding folk in the guise of a simple ranger. A destiny foretold that he would step forward to reclaim his birthright, to lead all free peoples against the dark terror which would manifest itself. A monarch who would rule all under his kingly hand, bringing peace and prosperity to the land.

"But there is a twist to this tale of wonders." Qrow's voice grew softer as he stared into the fire. "This great king, this leader of men, does not want this accolade. He is hesitant to step forward, reluctant to lay claim to such power." He stood abruptly, tossing another log onto the fire, watching the dwindling flames leap around it as it settled into the glowing core.

"It's you. You are the one of whom you speak." Clover sat up straight, staring at the man before him. "But... why would you turn from your own destiny? Why spurn those who need you?"

Qrow breathed out a deep sigh. "I have come to realise, there is more than one way to lead. I have no wish to be a figurehead... I do not believe the best ruler is always the one born unto the line of kings. How many equally worthy men—or indeed, women—are there in this world, who could perform such a task with as much, if not more, diligence and effectiveness? Who am I, to step forward and claim all this—" he swept an arm about him "—as mine, and mine alone? It is not right. There must be a better way to lead, and if this comes to pass, then I will find that better way." He stared at Clover, challenging the seated man with his eyes. "What say you, Man of Gondor? Are you one who follows the man he has been told is his leader, with no question asked? Or do you wonder, sometimes, if we can strive for something greater, than to merely mimic those kings of old?"

Clover swallowed. "I serve my lord James, but... I have often speculated, and debated with Ozpin, whether allowing one person to rule in this way, with absolute authority, is... wise."

Qrow nudged the log further into the flames with one shabby, booted foot. "Well then, it seems we are in agreement. However, the present situation is not the time to overthrow all we have known, in the hope of a better tomorrow. If all Ozpin has told you is true, for the cause to prevail, all men must unite. It is only by banding together, fighting as one, that we have the smallest hope of defeating the enemy. And then, perhaps, when there is peace..."

Clover stood up. "Tell me what I can do! If you are indeed of the regal line..." He dropped to one knee, head bowed. "I dedicate myself to your service, my lord."

Qrow caught his arm, hauling the soldier to his feet. "Clover, do not be foolish! I do not wish for your service; I am not your lord! However..." His red eyes gazed into the green eyes of the captain. "If we stand shoulder to shoulder in battle, I believe there is no-one I would rather have at my side." He gripped Clover's shoulder before releasing his hold, his hand falling away.

It was a long, heavy moment before Clover took a small step back, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily. "Of... of course."

Qrow considered him, a small smile on his face. Then he turned, gathering up his cloak which lay on the bed. "Now, I have to depart. When you return to Minas Tirith, be sure to greet Ozpin for me. It has been many months since we last spoke, but I feel we will meet again before long."

"You are leaving so soon?" Clover wasn't sure why he felt disappointed.

"I must. There are pressing matters which require my attention. But I will see you again, Clover. And then—" he broke off with a small laugh. "Who knows what may happen?"

The two men clasped arms, and with a swift turn of the key in the door, Qrow was gone.

Clover stood before the fireplace, a myriad thoughts swirling unbidden in his mind. With a small shake of his head, he moved to unpack his meagre belongings. After a perfunctory toilet, he damped down the fire and retired to the bed.

Before sleep took him, one question refused to leave his head.

"Will I indeed see Qrow again?"


	2. Minas Tirith

The enemy's attack on Minas Tirith had not come without warning. The spies of Gondor were spread across the land, one by one returning to the city to make their reports to the Steward. Troops were massing, armies marching from distant lands to bolster Salem's forces. A cataclysmic battle was foreshadowed, and James, Steward of Gondor, feared their doom was upon them.

Clover Ebi, Captain of the Guard, did not share the fatalistic outlook of his lord. Messengers were sent out from the city, calling upon former allies to join the fight against evil. The beacons were lit— a fiery chain of hope which stretched across the land. _Gondor calls for aid._

Clover watched the leaping flames, each beacon appearing smaller than the last, until his eye could no longer discern them. Would their allies, friends of old, respond? Or would Gondor remain to stand alone, the last bastion of freedom against the inexorable march of evil?

The days were long, filled with endless activity, as Minas Tirith prepared for war. Civilians were sequestered in the innermost ring of the city, defences were bolstered, and finally, the hoped-for aid began to arrive. Battalions of soldiers from neighbouring regions were deployed within the city and without, and as the daylight hours grew shorter, Clover knew there were few days remaining before the enemy closed in.

Each day he had looked for a party of new arrivals led by a tall man with untidy dark hair. Each day ended in disappointment, as Qrow did not come.

 _If we stand shoulder to shoulder in battle_... Clover pondered those words, and thought maybe Qrow had resolved to turn away from the destiny he wished to deny.

One day the sun did not rise— or so it appeared. A sickly grey light was the only indication that morning had broken, as thick clouds covered the sky, marching in from the East as though the heavens were preparing for war. Clover had completed an inspection of troops on the outer wall, when a messenger ran breathlessly up to him. "Sir, there are reports of large numbers of men, mounted and on foot, approaching the city from the North."

"What banners do they carry?"

"Some display no banners... many of the horsemen carry the banners of Rohan."

"This is welcome news. Thank you, you may go." Clover turned to face the North, his heart beating a little faster.

❖

The dread day wore on and on, waves of enemy soldiers beating against the beleaguered troops who fought so valiantly before the gates of the city. Clover rode back and forth, marshalling his men and encouraging others. It was perhaps a matter of inevitability, given his conspicuous presence on the battlefield, that the captain would eventually be targeted by a group of orcs. They tried to cut Vixen down from under him, but she reared up and brought her hooves down upon their heads. The orcs fled, shrieking, seeking easier prey. Clover patted Vixen's neck, taking his eye briefly from the uneven ground before him. Without warning, the mare stumbled, and Clover was flung a little distance from her, his head cracking against the ground. He lay insensible on the churned earth, and Vixen steadied herself, seeking her master and nuzzling his face. Clover did not stir, and with a soft whinny Vixen settled down beside him, her neck stretched across his chest, muzzle resting on the ground beyond.

  


The tide of battle surged back and forth, losses mounting on either side, before the enemy was finally subdued. The clouds rolled back, allowing the welcome rays of the early evening sun to sweep over the land. Salem's forces, for the moment, were vanquished.

The defenders of the city—men, elves, and others who had answered Gondor's call—were at last allowed to draw a steadying breath. As the search for survivors began, one man made his slow way through the devastation.

Qrow had not arrived at the gates of Minas Tirith carrying the banner of a king. His band of rangers fought fiercely but anonymously, suffering few casualties by the battle's end. Qrow's red eyes had ever searched for the Captain of the Guard, but in vain.

The sun was making her slow journey into the west, and the ranger turned his weary feet towards the city. He picked his careful way, eyes still scanning the battlefield for a sign, a movement.

There it was. A chestnut brown mare lifted her head, revealing a prone figure beside her. Qrow hurried forward to kneel in the dirt, and was rewarded by the face of the captain. Clover was still and pale as death, the merest fluttering of his eyelashes indicating that he yet lived.

Qrow removed the sword and shield which had fallen across his body, slinging one across his back and thrusting the other into the earth. He gently examined the other man, scanning for wounds and finding none. Brow furrowed, he stood upright and hailed a nearby soldier. "Make haste with a stretcher! The Captain of the Guard is here, and is grievously injured."

  


Clover was borne into the city, Qrow following closely with the captain's sword and shield. He was taken directly to the Houses of Healing and laid upon a narrow bed in a large room filled with injured soldiers.

Qrow stood the sword and shield in the corner, then turned to attend to the inert form on the bed. One of the healers approached, and together they removed Clover's clothing and washed his body. He was then dressed in a clean white nightshirt, and Qrow drew the coverlet carefully up to his chest.

The soldier had not stirred, or uttered one word, during their ministrations.

Qrow drew up a chair and sat by the bed. His mind had scarce been his own until now, but with the imminent threat of the enemy forestalled, he was able to rest a little easier. What it was that drew him to the man lying still on the bed beside him, he did not know. His one desire was that Clover should wake, and when he did, Qrow's face should be the first he saw.

At intervals through the evening and into the night, Qrow took a cool, damp cloth and wiped the captain's face. Once or twice he thought Clover was about to speak; his lips moved, but there was no sound. Qrow was not certain exactly what ailed him, as there were no obvious injuries on his body. It seemed he had fallen from his horse and taken a blow to the head— whether he would recover or not, Qrow did not know.

❖

In the cold grey light before dawn, Clover woke. His head throbbed intensely, and his body ached in every limb. He painfully turned his head on the pillow, and saw Qrow sitting in a chair alongside, head drooping against his chest.

Clover raised a weak hand and brushed one finger along Qrow's arm where it leant against the edge of the bed. Qrow sat upright, his eyes widening in the gloom as he looked at Clover.

The captain's lips moved, but no sound came forth. Qrow leaned across to place his ear closer to Clover's mouth.

"You came."

Qrow covered the hand with his own. "Yes. We did not fight together, but I said I would see you again. And here I am."

Clover smiled wanly, his eyes fixed on Qrow's face.

"You should sleep now, Clover. I will still be here when you wake."

Clover's eyelids flickered briefly, before closing over his green eyes. Qrow sat back in his chair, his hand still clasping the other's gently.

❖

Several hours later, the ranger still maintained his vigil by Clover's bedside. Qrow had slept in many uncomfortable places, and had kept a sleepless watch through countless dark nights. When Clover finally roused, turning his head to whisper, "Qrow," all thoughts of discomfort fled his mind.

The captain's face was ashen in the weak sunlight which now filled the room. His heartbeat was steady, and his voice stronger, as he said, "My head pains me, but I am alive. I have you to thank for that."

"I found you, but the healers here have cared for you. Without them, you would be lost."

The shadow of a smile crossed Clover's lips. "You are right, and I am more thankful to them than words can say." He swallowed, a spasm of pain crossing his face.

Qrow brought a cup of water to his lips, and Clover drank from it gratefully.

"I am glad it is your face I see, now I am awake."

Qrow set the cup down. "And I am relieved you are finally conscious. It was feared you would not recover, but I hoped... I knew your strength would prevail."

A frown furrowed Clover's brow. "And did Gondor— did we carry the day? Is the enemy vanquished?"

Qrow's face was stern, as he took one of Clover's hands between his own. "For now, we have driven them back. The forces of evil have fled, doubtless to tend to their wounds and regroup." He looked into Clover's eyes, adding, "And we will be ready for them, when they return. But now, your only concern must be to recover your strength. We may yet fight alongside each other."

Clover squeezed Qrow's fingers weakly. His eyes began to close, and the ranger got to his feet.

"Rest for now, my brave Captain. I will return soon."

❖

Clover's recovery was swifter than Qrow had anticipated. Upon the following day he was able to sit up comfortably, and take some food without feeling nauseous.

One day after, and the captain was on his feet, and able to walk a little, whilst resting a hand on Qrow's shoulder for support. The ranger marvelled at his improvement, and remarked on it as they walked slowly in the small garden adjoining the Houses of Healing.

"My mother oft said I was a strong boy, when I was young." Clover smiled at the memory. "It would seem she was right."

Qrow smiled also. "Indeed, and it gladdens my heart to see you making such progress. But you must take care not to over-exert yourself, Clover. These things must not be rushed."

"You are keen to watch over me." Clover smiled as he looked at Qrow. "And I see you are a man of Gondor now?" He indicated Qrow's jerkin, which bore the symbol of Gondor upon it.

Qrow's fingers traced across the white tree, set about with seven stars. "It is a sign of my intent... to serve the people of Gondor, rather than to rule over them."

"You are still set upon this path, then? You have no wish to take the throne?"

"You are correct... but these are matters for the future. At present, your recovery is my main concern." Qrow glanced at Clover, whose brow was furrowed.

"Do you know— I would like to see Vixen, if I may." Clover had heard from Qrow the story of his recovery from the field of battle, and was proud of his horse. "She saved my life, I think."

"She is a brave and wise beast." Qrow held out an arm for Clover to lean on as they progressed up a sloping pathway. "And she has been well cared for, you may be sure of that."

Clover's footsteps faltered. "I think perhaps I should go tomorrow." He felt a lassitude come over him, and rested more heavily against Qrow. "I am somewhat tired now."

Qrow looked at the other in consternation. "Forgive me, I have kept you from your bed for too long. Let us return at once."

Clover smiled gratefully at him. "You are too kind to me."

Qrow placed his free hand over Clover's, where it rested on his arm. "Would that I might always be so." His words were softly spoken, and they provoked much thought in Clover's mind, as they returned to his bed.

❖

The following day, Qrow accompanied Clover to the stables, where a joyful reunion took place. The ranger had thought to bring some carrots from the kitchens, and Vixen's delight at the treat was only exceeded by her obvious joy at seeing her master once more. She nuzzled Clover's neck, rubbing against him and causing him to stagger into Qrow in her enthusiasm. He grasped Clover's arms firmly, steadying the soldier as the mare continued to whicker softly against his face. Clover stroked her neck, turning to Qrow with a smile. There were tears in his eyes.

"She saved my life. As did you."

Qrow wiped away the tears from Clover's cheeks, his rough thumb chafing a little. Clover found the sensation soothing, adding, "It is true, Qrow. I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing, Clover. Although—" He broke off, his hand falling away as his gaze left Clover's face.

"What is it?" Clover felt light-headed as he looked at Qrow. _What is this man to me? Why am I drawn to him, as I have never been to any other before?_

"You once—" Qrow faltered, looking into the stall where Vixen was enjoying her carrots. Clover detected a faint flush on his cheeks, and wondered at a similar warmth on his own face.

"In Bree, you dedicated yourself to my service, do you remember?"

"I do recall it. That moment... hearing your tale... it was my desire."

"And well you know, I do not want that from you. I would rather we might aid each other, in the battles that are to come. In the work that must be done after, to build a better world, for all. I would want you at my side, in— every way."

Clover's green eyes looked into those of the ranger, the soft crimson revealing a warmth which caused Clover's breath to catch in his chest.

"In every way? I am unsure—"

In reply, Qrow took Clover's hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the knuckles. He peered up at the captain's face, his eyes searching for an answer to his unspoken question.

Clover caught at the edge of Vixen's stall with his other hand. His head was swimming, his throat constricted. The hammering of his heart was almost too much to bear.

Qrow immediately dropped Clover's hand, catching him in a strong embrace as the other slumped against the stall. "What madness took me? Clover, I am so sorry—"

Clover steadied himself, his hand on Qrow's shoulder helping him regain his balance.

"I must not be as strong as I thought, and your words... this was not something I expected." He leant against the stall, Vixen nosing his ear, before he regarded the ranger with wide eyes.

"Qrow, you must forgive me, but I need to understand what it is you are asking me. I am only a soldier, accustomed to plain speaking."

Qrow glanced across the stables to the courtyard outside, where other soldiers were going about their day, paying no heed to the two men within.

"Since we first met, in Bree, you have oft-times been in my thoughts, Clover. I have developed a... deep affection for you, and..." He faltered as he finally looked into the other man's face. Clover was smiling, his face pale yet determined.

"And I for you." Clover was unsure where this declaration would lead, but his words were true, and he wanted Qrow to know.

"Then there is much I would speak of with you, but later. Now you should return to rest... and I am certain Vixen would agree, if she could." Qrow smiled at the mare, still nudging her master gently.

Clover rubbed Vixen's neck, leaning in to speak a few soft words to her. "I will come again tomorrow," he added more loudly, before taking Qrow's arm as they slowly left the stables.

"Qrow, it is true I should like to rest a little, but I know my mind will not be easy until you have said... until I understand what it is you wish for."

Their steps slowed as Qrow considered his words. "What I wish for, if you are willing, would be to spend my life with you. To ride out together, as partners and comrades. To share all that life has to offer. To live together, as one."

Clover came to a halt, turning to face the other man. His breathing quickened, as he looked into Qrow's face. "I am willing to share my life with you. But there is one condition."

Qrow's brow creased. "Name it."

A small smile crossed Clover's face. "I must be permitted to keep Vixen with me, even when she is too frail to carry me."

Qrow stared for a moment, before letting out a shout of laughter. He embraced the other, brushing a kiss against his hair. "I would expect nothing less. She saved your life, to be sure." Drawing back, he kissed Clover gently on the lips. "And I will thank her every day for that."

He tucked Clover's hand into the crook of his elbow, and they made their slow way back to the Houses of Healing.

**Author's Note:**

> Friendly comments always appreciated, thank you.


End file.
